With This Prenup, I* Thee** Wed****As represented by this attorney-at-law**And your predisposition to rack up mountains of debt***And enter into a financially responsible economic partnership

Congratulations! You love me! You've even asked me to marry you. We're not mega-celebrities, and you barely have enough money to cover your share of the rent, yet you think a prenup is in our best interest. I'm not gonna like the idea at first—and some women may never be on board—but if you really can't help yourself, here's how and when and why you can convince me this is something we've gotta do.

Ladykind is a logical species as much endowed with the capacity for steely-eyed realism as our bepenised compatriots. It's probably why you guys keep wanting to marry us. (That, and that secret thing we once did with our pinky finger in your you-know-what.) But proposing a prenuptial contract is a different matter. It's like a free-association game gone awry: You say "ring!" I think "forever!" (Or just as often, "my preeeecious.") But you say, "I need you to sign a prenup." And I think, "You f$%#ing sh$#% enema sack." You're essentially telling us a bad ending is possible before we've even started. That's not necessarily a deal breaker—I saw Titanic thirteen times in the theater and I knew how that was gonna end—but it's not much of a declaration of confidence in the let's-grow-old-together thing, either. At the very least, there will be hurt feelings. At worst, a broken relationship. Then again, this can be a good thing for both of us—so long as you tread cautiously and follow these rules:

Rule #1: Seriously, Don't Ask Us for a Prenup

Rule #2: If You Must Do It, Do It Early
People who know these things (lawyers) say more couples are going in on prenups than ever before. This is thanks to a cluster of sociological shifts like the uptick in gay marriages and the now-grown hordes of bitter Gen X'ers who've already lived through one awful divorce—their parents'. "And it's not just the mega-wealthy people doing it anymore," says one lawyer who specializes in prenuptial contracts. "It's a lot of normal people, too."

But you still have to do it right. First things first, have the conversation early, as in way before the wedding date. I've actually heard stories of sobbing, shaky-handed brides signing a batch of documents the sheepish grooms sprung on them moments before their march down the aisle. (Word to the wise: Those kinds of "forced" prenups are much less likely to hold up in a court of law anyway. So there.) Really, a discussion should take place before the engagement. When our dude is down on his knee, or suspiciously watching our every bite of restaurant tiramisu—however the proposal happens—we want to know what kind of marriage we're saying yes to.

My friend Julie's husband announced on date three that he was a prenup kind of guy. "Before we were ever serious, he mentioned he would never get married without one," she tells me. "So I was fully aware from the get-go. And I was fine with it." Think about it this way: If you're anticipating an open marriage (you know, the kind where you get to fuck lots of people?), you'd maybe mention that before asking your lady to marry you, yes? The same logic applies to asking for a prenup.

Rule #3: Drafting a Prenup—Like Marriage and Baby-Making—Takes Two
Apologies to George Bush emulators, but drafting a prenup cannot be a preemptive, unilateral action. My advice? Sit her down and tell her you want to discuss your and her financial expectations for the marriage. Frame it in terms of what you both want to "share" with each other, instead of leaping directly into what you won't be sharing. "You have to be really open about it and have an honest discussion," the prenup specialist advises. "If you can't do that, you'll probably have issues in your marriage anyway." Keep in mind prenups concern future income. Sure, you're out-earning her $200,000 a year to $50 per blog post now, but one day soon the tide may change. Maybe she's the one who ends up fast-tracking on a more lucrative career trajectory. Maybe the financial protection does make sense for both parties. Whatever you agree on, you should draft it together. With your lawyers, of course. On that...

Rule #4: Pay for Her Lawyer
You ask her out to dinner; you pay for dinner. She asks you to a movie; she pays for the movie. You ask her for a prenup—the cost of which might be five, ten, or twenty grand for two lawyers? You pay both bills.

Rule #5: Do Not Blame Your Parents
My best friend's boyfriend wanted a prenup. He had a trust fund. Of like $500,000. He raised the subject one night. She balked. So immediately he reverted to this pussyfooted excuse: "My dad is making me!" That line of reasoning didn't go over so well. "It made me even madder!" she tells me. "It's one thing if he owned up to it, but it's a whole different issue if he's just blindly obeying his parents. Who wants to marry someone who doesn't make his own decisions?" Touché. (P.S. They are now happily married with kids and no prenup.)

Rule #6: Don't Plan on Loading Up Your Prenup with Behavior-Specific Rules
You are not Michael Douglas, and I am not Catherine Zeta-Jones—and neither of us has throat cancer from oral sex (hopefully). You do not get to require me to stay looking 27 years old, and I do not get to allegedly stipulate a cheating clause that requires you to shell out $5 million if you ever stray. Neither would likely hold up in court anyway.

Rule #7: Don't Just Talk About It— Sign the Damn Thing
Julie's husband may have mentioned prenups on the third date, but they didn't actually get around to signing one until the week of their wedding. "We got caught up in our lives and planning the ceremony," she explains. "But then the week of the wedding, we were negotiating through each other's lawyers, disguising our anger in 'lawyerspeak,' and it was incredibly tense and weird." The silver lining? "Once mine was signed, I've never had to think about it again."

Rule #8: Consider One Last Time Whether You Really Need This
I just want to drive home the potentially catastrophic consequences (think: Roland Emmerich movie, but in your apartment) of broaching this subject. This could ruin your marriage-to-be. And once it's out of the bag, there's no going back. Consider: Do I really need one? Am I an 89-year-old billionaire with a Tony Soprano robe? Is my betrothed a 23-year-old bottle blonde with remote-control boobies named Schmanna Schmicole Schmith?

The truth is—and by the truth I mean my opinion—no one with less than, like, a milli needs a damn prenup. Protecting your impressive paycheck from the woman you've chosen to spend the rest of your life with doesn't bode well. To us ladies, it seems like idiot insurance. That your reasoning is Just in case I mess up. Or worse: She's in it for the money. Which would make any woman question who, exactly, she's marrying. When you add up the lawyer fees, the emotional costs, and the potential damage to long-term trust, you might wish you'd just let it ride. Like we do with your cracked-out mother.

siobhan rosen is a pseudonym because the writer does not want to discourage super-rich guys who like prenups from hitting on her.